


Peach Sunrises, Lavender Sunsets

by Insomniac_with_dreams



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Lance (Voltron), It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Lance (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is a bit of a jerk at first, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith/Lance (Voltron), Writer Keith (Voltron), betrayal??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomniac_with_dreams/pseuds/Insomniac_with_dreams
Summary: “So what do you do? Lance asks, leaning against the wall with his water bottle hanging between his legs. Keith looks over, wiping his sweaty bangs out of his face.“You know you're the first person to have asked me that.”Lance looks lazily over at him, his head lolling against the wall, "It’s kind of an unspoken rule not to ask people who move here what they do.”“Why?”Lance’s laugh is a gross parody to what it has been for the last few hours they had spent tearing up linoleum. “Because everyone who moves to Seaside is running from something.” Blue eyes level on him, “So maybe I should be asking, what are you running from Keith?”
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance/OC
Kudos: 29





	1. I See a Perfect Town by the Sea

“So, you’re really doing it.”

It’s early enough in the morning that the cold crisp from the night still hangs in the air and dew still lingers on the sparse grass littering the lawn. Boxes and suitcases are stacked in haphazard piles being stuffed into the back seat and trunk of a tiny red car. Keith looks around the box of books he’s currently trying to stuff into the trunk. He grimaces at the sharp grin he gets.

“I said I would didn’t I?” he huffs teeth clenched as he finally slides the stubborn box into place. Acxa shrugs off of the hood where she had been leaning against it. She comes around to observe the mess he’s made.

“Yeah, but we were sophomores in high school when you first said that.” she leans over to read a box eyebrows raising. ‘You’re taking everything.”

Keith finally turns to her, wiping a wrist across his forehead. “I don’t really plan on coming back. Not permanently at least.” he thinks he sees a flash of hurt tear through Acxa’s eyes, and she’s his best friend, but he’s selfish. “ I’ll come back for visits, I just. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“I know Keith. I know. Just, don’t forget about me yeah? We’re still best friends.”

Keith smiles at her, “I won’t Acxa, I promise. We sealed our friendship through blood, remember?” it feels childish, this conversation, and Keith has been telling himself over and over again that he isn’t a child. He can handle this. He has to handle this.

She nods her chin rising in that way when she is trying not to let her emotions show. They’ve known each other for long enough that Keith knows what this means.

“I’m sorry, Acxa. But I can’t and I know I’m a selfish dick.”

They consider each other for a while before Acxa’s shoulders fall and she holds out her arms. He fake pouts as he steps into her embrace. He hates being hugged by her because she’s at least a head taller then he is. She holds it, and everything else above him.

“I can’t stop you asshole, and I’ll probably get so busy with school I’ll forget you exist.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll call you as much as I can, and if you want we can write.”

She pushes him away making a face at him, “Ew Kogane. That’s sappy. I think texting will suffice and if I ever feel the need to send you a Christmas card then I’ll ask you.”

“Oh so you aren’t ever going to need my mailing address then?” he asks a smile breaking across his face. She shoves him a bit but doesn’t deny it. They both look at the remaining boxes and then at the dark windows of the house. 

“Be careful out there. People aren’t always what they seem.”

~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Keith had decided to drive to his little seaside town. Which upon the sun setting in the sky more than twelve hours later, may not have been the best idea. He was broke though and going flying was far out of the question. If he had managed to sell his house before he moved then he would have flown, but the house was in the middle of nowhere and anyone in their right mind wouldn’t want it. So driving it was. He slept fitfully on the side of the road, jerking at the smallest sound or every semi-truck that roared past him, but finally, after nearly a day, he read the sign that announced with tear-jerking relief, that he was coming into his town.

It was small. Maybe three thousand people, all spread out along the coast of the Atlantic ocean. The beaches were more stubbly grass than sand, and the sea was an angry grey. It rolled against the rocks, and Keith relished the sound and smell of it as he pulled to the side of the road and climbed from his cramped confines. It was perfect.

The street that led up to the little cottage he had purchased was washed in sand and shadowed by red maples, their leaves already turning to apricot. He sees flashes of houses as he goes by. Big, white, made of wood and weathered by the wind and sea. It’s perfect.

His cottage is at the end of the road, nestled in trees. The branches reaching out over the roof, ivy curled up the side. Keith stops the car and gets out, a grin spreading across his face. The cottage is slopping. It’s window frames and roof sagging with age, the white paint on the walls is peeling and the navy blue that lines the windows and doors is faded to a light dirty blue. It’s  _ perfect. _ He has the key in his pocket, sent to him by the lady he bought the cottage from and he pulls it out with shaking fingers. It was a big brass thing that matched the big brass lock and handles. It creaks as he inserts it and for a breath-stopping moment he thinks it isn’t going to work, but then the door is groaning as he pushes against it.

Inside is a little less perfect. It’s dusty and damp, the air smelling a bit of mold. Linoleum is peeling in curls across the floor, and spider webs trail from the ceiling. Keith steps with grace onto the creaking floor, praying it isn’t molded, that it will hold his weight. Immediately he walks into a spider web cursing as he spits it from his mouth and claws it from his hair. With less grace and more stumble, he makes his way further into the house. The floor creaking all the way. The living area is small, but lined with windows and even more breathtaking is the dusty window seat that runs the length of the windows. Keith puts his hands on his hips, looking around again. His work is cut out for him, that is for sure, but it is  _ his _ . His romantic little cottage and he is willing to do what it took to make it work for him.

He determined to go into town the next morning to see if there was a hardware store of sorts, but for now, he brought in some of his boxes and slept on the backseat of his car, wrapped in as many layers as he could to ward off the chill that swept up from the sea. It takes him a while to fall asleep. He’s used to absolute silence of the desert he used to live in. The sea is loud, constant noise and it’s comforting. Just strange. Almost unnatural. 

In the morning his neck protests his movement and he lets out a long pained groan that matches the long pained growl that his stomach makes, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day. His little car struggles to start, the engine coughing and wheezing from the cold. Keith understands as he wraps his frigid fingers around the steering wheel silently egging on his car, and breathing in relief when she finally starts.

Keith can’t deny the excitement that bubbles in him as he drives back up the road and into the small town. The roads on main street, or honestly the only street, are free of sand, but not from wear and tear. The buildings are all beaten up by the wind and salt that carry heavy in the wind, but they’re lovely. All whites, blues, and greens. Ice cream shops, coffee shops, a library, even a pretty little bookshop make up the small town. He vows to go back to the bookshop the windows draw to him, casting warm yellows on to the cobblestone street and the bikes that rest against the side of the building. From the center of town, he can see a huge lighthouse up on a hill keeping a watchful eye on the storming sea, the light revolving around and around, flashing in the muddy sunlight.

He doesn’t see many people but he does find a small hardwood store. It looks like it’s mainly for boat repair, but he’s sure he can find what he needs.

He stops for breakfast at the tiny coffee shop. It’s empty as he walks through the door a bell above him jingling. It’s quaint and Keith finds himself relaxing in the warm coffee smelling atmosphere.

“Good morning!” a man has stepped in from the back and smiles at Keith. Ducking his head a bit he walks up to the counter. “What can I get for you today?”

Keith is distracted by the man's huge auburn mustache before he shakes himself and looks up at the handwritten menu. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

The man laughs and leans on the counter turning his head to look up at the menu as well, ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Are you visiting?”

“Ah, no I uh, moved here,” Keith says his eyes still trained on the menu. 

“Oh! Well, welcome to Seaside neighbor!”

Keith looks down to smile at him, it looks watery in comparison to the man’s wide grin. “Thanks.”

“Well, since you are new here, and I think everyone should get a warm welcome, I have to recommend the clam chowder. Full of warmth and welcome!”

Keith orders the clam chowder. The man, Coran as he introduced himself as brings it to him and then slides into the chair next to him. Keith doesn’t mind, the soup is warm. Thawing him out the rest of the way and Coran talks about everything, giving him a good idea of what Seaside is.

“You say you live in Lydia’s old cottage, rest her soul,” Coran asks after he’s told Keith about each road name, and Keith is delighted that his road is named Stories End. It’s almost funny. He nods in affirmation and Coran claps his hands together. “Then my boy you have the perfect view of the horses!”

“Horses?” Keith couldn’t remember seeing anything to do with horses. Coran nods.

“Yes! We host a lovely herd of wild horses, or uh, ponies I suppose. They live in the wooded areas around your place. You should be able to see them when they run along the beach. They attract tourists like honey attracts flies, kind souls they are though,” Coran pauses before smiling, “The ponies that is, not so much the tourists.”

Keith laughs, sputtering clam chowder off of the spoon that was poised at his lips. Coran looks delighted leaning back in his chair twirling his fingers around his mustache.

“I think I like you young Keith, now have you any more questions before you go about your way.”

“Does anyone live in the lighthouse?” he’s hoping that no one does, it seems like a marvelous place for an adventure.

“Ah. Yes. Lord Gilbert lives there,” Again Coran pauses, “Well, I suppose he lives there occasionally. He comes from Britain somewhere. Uses Seaside as a summer home. I think his husband is down caring for it this fall.”

“I see.” the disappointment sits heavy in his voice even if he doesn’t want it to. Coran is messing with his mustache again giving Keith a sympathetic look.

“It’s not all bad. You’re sure to hear some more about it, bit of a scandal if you know what I mean,” Coran winks and it moves the entirety of his face. Keith must look confused because Coran laughs, high and clear. “Ah,” he wipes his eyes, “Don’t worry my boy if you truly want to know you will hear. I will say though, his husband is quite agreeable compared to the man himself. If you run into him then you’re in for a treat.”

The bell above the door jingles and Coran looks around Keith towards the door, his face breaks into a smile, “Mary! Good morning! You must come and meet our new Neighbor!”

Keith cringes waving his hands, “No uh, it’s fine.”

Coran’s eyes are still crinkled in a smile and he flaps his hand in Keith’s direction, “Nonsense lad!”

So Keith sits there helpless, his clam chowder cooling as a grey-haired woman rambles to him. He isn’t even sure what she’s talking about. He nods along and starts to excuse himself sliding off of his chair when she grabs his hand.

“Oh, darling you have to come to our tea party this Friday! We’re having it in the park!”

Keith’s smile is a wavy thing, shaking at the corners, “O-oh, that sounds great. I’ll see if I’m free on that day. Speaking of, I really have to go. The cottage is in dire need of fixing up so I’m going to go.” he slides his hand out from under hers says a hurried goodbye and speed walks to the register to pay for his clam chowder. Coran makes him promise to come back and he nods hurriedly before walking out of the shop with purpose. He’s almost to his car when Coran is calling to him from where he’s leaning out of the coffee shop door.

“Keith! Lad! I nearly forgot to tell you!” he waits for Coran to jog up to him, his hand on his car door. “If you ever get interested, there’s a nice little artists studio up the hill a little ways from you. The young man who lives there is a true delight, about your age too! Maybe if you get lonely you can hike up there and say hi, I know he won’t mind!”

Keith smiles at him, “Thanks, Coran. I’ll think about it.” Coran beams lacing his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels.

“Anytime, and if you need help with the cottage you know where to find me.”

The hardware store is subpar, to say the least, and it sends anxiety coursing through Keith. Sure he could drive all the way to the next big city to get the supplies he needs, but he’s nearly positive that as winter hits there isn’t going to be any convenient way out of Seaside. He was right in thinking the shop would be centered around boat repair. Finally, he gives up and goes looking for help. He finds it in a woman who’s up on a ladder sorting fish hooks into different little drawers embedded into the wall. She has shockingly white hair that startles him because when she turns around her face is youthful her eyes bright.

“Oh, hello. Can I help you?” She hops off the ladder and Keith is grateful that she does. He knows he’s short.

“Uh, yeah. I need some stuff to redo a house. I haven’t had much luck.” He breaks off and watches as the woman’s mouth twists around as she thinks.

“When you say redo a house what do you need?” she asks as she walks around him and behind a counter ducking down to grab a notebook. She tosses it onto the counter, the paper is water stained and the blue cover is cracked from use. Keith wants to touch it, run his fingers over the fraying spine, and brittle paper. He tears his eyes from the book back up to the woman as she clicks a pen.

“Oh, uh, I need linoleum. Paint, carpet, cleaning supplies.”

She nods jotting down a list. She looks up to make sure he’s done talking. “Okay so. We have plenty of paint and primers and other such things. I might have some linoleum, but I can’t promise that. And I don’t have any carpet.”

Keith tries not to look as deflated as he feels, “Oh. Um, well I’d like to look at what you have to offer.”

The woman looks regretful that they can’t offer him more help but she nods and minions him to follow her as she steps back around the counter. They walk back into the darker corners of the shop past the tackle and oars. 

“I’m Allura by the way.”

Keith nods, “I’m Keith. I just moved here.”

Allura reaches up to grab a string connected to a light, “Yeah I figured. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here, and trust me when I say I know  _ everyone _ around here.” she pauses in front of a dust-covered box turning it in a circle to read the side. “Ah, here we go.”

It’s awkward to work around each other again as they walk back out to the main area of the shop. Allura heaves the box into her arms and nods for Keith to move. 

“If you’re new here in town, I think I’m going to have to recommend Alfor’s Coffee,” Allura said over her shoulder. 

“Oh, I actually went there this morning. The owner is very eccentric.” Keith chuckles stepping back as Allura puts the box on the counter and pulls a box cutter out of her pocket. 

“He’s my uncle.”

Keith blanches, “Oh, I’m sorry. I mean he is the good kind of eccentric. He uh helped me a lot.”

Allura waves the knife at him, “Oh hush. I wasn’t offended.” she slits the top of the box open, “ I actually agree.”

The linoleum in the box looks like grey wood. It might not match the rest of the cottage but it’s better than the yellow stained flower style that was the original. He runs his fingertips over it debating. Allura pats the side of the box, “It’s easy to clean, it looks nice, and let's face it; you have no other options.”

Keith takes it. She shows him paint next and he spends an obscene amount of time choosing between the blues. He wanted to keep the navy blue that the cottage was already adorned with, and he finally settled on one that’s slightly bluer and then a bright white. He cuts his losses at the carpet resolving that he has to deal with hardwood in his living area and bedroom until the winter is over.

“This all you need?” Allura asks as he puts down the two cans of paint and a roller brush.

“Yeah. This and the linoleum.”

It’s pricey but it’s worth it so Keith has no problem paying the steep price. Keith is buzzing with excitement as he drives back out of town towards his little cottage. He’s ready to make it his, make it a home.


	2. I See a Perfect Cottage Dripping in Ivy

It’s harder than he thought it was going to be. Every window and door is thrown open as he attempts to tear up the rest of the hideous rubbery linoleum. It sticks with stubborn strength to the floor and he has to pause more often then he would like. On one such break, he leaves the house entirely to go and lean against his car, spitting the taste of dust from his mouth and brushing cobwebs from his hair. It’s a nice day, and despite his daunting task and the pain in his neck and back from sleeping in his car three nights in a row; he’s happy. The sea has been a constant companion. It’s rush and retreat comforting him in the silence. He has yet to see hide nor hair of the ponies, and the san along the beach on the other side of the road stays hoof print free.

Keith is still sitting against the hood of his car when he hears the trill of a bike bell. He startles twists around pausing to stare as the bike comes to a stop by him. It’s blue, glinting dully in the sun, a covered basket is nestled between the handlebars. It’s hardly the mundane bike that has Keith mind screeching to a halt, no. It’s the boy who sits atop it, smiling like the sun itself, dimples popping out of brown cheeks. His hair glints golden brown in the sunlight swept and swayed by the wind from his bike ride. His long legs touch the ground to stabilize the bike, and he leans forward resting his elbow on the handlebars and his cheek in his hand. He’s beautiful.

“So, you’re the new neighbor,” it isn’t a question but Keith nods scrambling to stand up from the hood.

“Yeah. Yes, uh that is me.”

A brown eyebrow raises, and Keith feels his cheeks burn. The guy looks around him at the mess he’s made in front of the cottage. “ Are you like, okay? It looks like a hurricane hit this place. Jesus man, I hope poor Lydia isn’t seeing this.” blue eyes look briefly up at the clouds before they level him with a smirk again. Keith blanches. 

“I’m currently in the middle of redoing the whole place,” he growls, his eyes narrowing. 

“Is that what’s happening?” the guy asks his shit-eating grin still on his face and Keith wants to throw something at him. He’s worked hard dammit.

“What do you even want?” Keith says, crossing his arms. The guy shrugs.

“Oh well, I was just on my way home and I noticed your car. I was super excited to meet the new neighbor, but then it was just,” long brown fingers wiggle at him and he can’t help the way his mouth falls open as his eyebrows draw together.

“Well fuck you,” Keith spits and turns to stalk back to his house. He hears the snick of a kickstand hitting the dirt and whirls around. The boy looks at least a little guilty as he walks towards Keith and it’s with horror that Keith realizes the guy is at least a head taller then he is. He grits his teeth, “If all you are here for is make fun of me, can you leave?”

The guy stops a few feet short from Keith and he takes a step back just so the huge height difference doesn’t seem so huge. Blue eyes look up at him and Keith feels his anger start to abate. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot and I think we did.”

Keith snorts, “You think?”

“Okay fine I was an asshole,” the huffy reply has Keith grinning a little bit. Blue eyes flash at him and those plush lips draw down in a pout, and  _ fuck _ , this was not part of the plan. “Anyways, if you’d let me get a word in edgewise, I’m Lance.”

A brown hand is extended to him and Keith looks down at it debating on whether or not to let this go yet. He wants more reactions out of  _ Lance.  _ He reaches out and shakes Lance’s hands startling at how soft they are.

“Keith,” he says simply. Lance nods letting go of his hand and peering around him at the mess again.

“Uh, do you possibly need help?”

That startles Keith even more, “Why the fuck would you want to help me?”

Lance frowns at him, raising his hands in mock defeat, “I was just asking buddy. A simple no would have sufficed.”

“I just asked why you want to help me. Not two minutes ago you were acting like I was vandalizing holy ground.”

Lance’s eye roll is impressive, “Yeah, but that was two minutes ago. This is now. I’m trying to redeem myself.”

He looks Lance up and down before shrugging. “If you want to I guess I could use the help.”

Lance smiles, “Awesome! Let me get my bike off the road.” 

Keith steps back into the house with a sigh staring at the half-exposed floor. Lance comes up behind him setting something down on the floor, “Uh, do you mind if I put my stuff here?” 

His stuff consists of a canvas, a bag of paintbrushes and paint. He feels like an idiot, “Ah. You’re the artist.”

Lance nods, “Yeah. How the hell did you know that though?”

Keith turns back around with a shrug, his hands on his hips. “Coran, I’m guessing you know him, told me about you.”

“What did he say exactly?” Lance’s voice is tense and Keith looks back over at him, confused by the tone and closed off look on Lance’s face.

“Not too much. He said you live up the hill a little ways from here, you’re an artist and apparently you’re supposed to be delightful. Not sure where they got that one.”

Keith can visibly see the tension fall from Lance’s shoulders, “I am delightful.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith says, ‘Which is why you called me ugly within four seconds of knowing my name.”

Lance’s eyes bug, “I never called you ugly!”

Keith wiggles his fingers at Lance in mock of his earlier action and then moves back to the spot where he had gotten stuck in his task. There’s a hammer on the floor and he wedges the sharp edge under the stubborn material and pries it up, grimacing at the dust it releases and the bugs that scurry away from him. Lance stomps over to him falling dramatically to his knees and holding his hand out for the hammer. Keith raises a skeptical eyebrow at him but hands it over. He watches as Lance scoots over to the edge of the wall, pulling a knife from his pocket slicing along the baseboard. He lodges the hammer under it, looks Keith straight in the eye, and pulls. It falls apart in his hands and they both stare down at the grimy piece of floor in Lance’s hand. Keith grins and Lance outs.

“I tried that,” Keith says, coming over to reclaim his hammer. Lance looks like the floor had offended his entire family.

“I was really counting on that to work.” 

Keith forces himself not to look back over at that pout, smiling to himself as he hears Lance slip to the floor in defeat, beginning to chip up the rest of it. He hears Lance mumble to himself. It’s weird, Keith lets himself realize. He doesn’t even know the other person sitting on the floor with him and yet there they are. Sitting together like Lance has known him his entire life. The work in relative silence, every once in a while asking back and forth for the hammer, because Keith only has one. Lance seems to get tired of the silence.

“So you’ve been around town yet?” he asks as he tosses the hammer towards him.

Keith hums in reply, “Yeah. The people I met seemed nice. I got invited to a tea party.”

Lance laughs and it’s all soft bells and rushing sea, “Yes. They tend to do that. Make sure you take something unless you want to be judged hard.” 

“Are you gonna go?” Keith asks, pausing to look over at Lance.

“Obviously. I’m like always the VIP. The ladies love my lemon bars.” Lance’s eyebrows wiggle and Keith snorts.

“Oh yes. I’m sure.”

Lance makes an offended noise, slapping a hand to his heart, all dramatics, “Just wait and see.”

Keith laughs again, even if it wasn’t all that funny, Lance’s exaggerated faces were too much for him. “Okay. I’ll be sure to watch.”

“I’m guessing you met Allura?” Lance asks, flinging a piece of linoleum at the pile they had slowly been building. Shaking the residue of flaking glue off of his hand with a grimace.

“Oh yeah. She seemed pretty cool. Told me she’d see if she could order me some carpet. Had a beautiful little notebook. It looked like she pulled it out of the sea or found it in a rainy park abandoned on a bench, just waiting to be used. I think ink would look beautiful on the paper. Dark and contrasting with the bleached white of the pages.”

He freezes and realizes he’s waxing poetry over a notebook that a stranger had. He ducks his head and looks at Lance through his bangs. He’s staring back at Keith, a strange look on his face. “Sorry,” Keith mumbled.

They work for two more hours, Keith’s back is aching and his throat feels sticky from the unhealthy amounts of dust that he’s inhaled. They didn’t really say much after Keith’s monologuing and he feared that this might be the last time he sees Lance. He stands up coughing into his elbow and peering over at Lance.

“Let’s take a break.” he rasps and Lance looks so relieved it’s almost comical. Keith rolls his eyes walking to his car and grabbing two water bottles. They were warm but it was water. Lance is slumped against the wall and he takes the water Keith offers him gratefully.

“Remind me never to help neighbors.”

Keith shrugs unscrewing the cap and taking a deep drink, “You didn’t have to.” he looks at the pile of ripped up linoleum and realizes that if he hadn’t had Lance with him, he probably wouldn’t even be halfway done. “Thanks though you helped a lot.” They drift into silence and Lance slides down the wall so he’s sitting on the floor.

“So what do you do? Lance asks leaning against the wall with his water bottle hanging between his legs. Keith looks over, wiping his sweating bangs out of his face.

“You know you’re the first person to have asked me that.”

Lance looks lazily over at him, his head lolling against the wall, “It’s kind of an unspoken rule not to ask people who move here what they do.”

“Why?”

Lance’s laugh is a gross parody to what it has been for the last few hours they had spent tearing up linoleum. “Because everyone who moves to Seaside is running from something.” Blue eyes level on him, “So maybe I should be asking, what are you running from Keith?”

Keith swallows, fighting the urge to drop his gaze from Lance’s, “What are you running from Lance?” His voice is quiet and raspy. Lance doesn’t really react, he shrugs and lifts his water to his lips. Keith thinks the conversation is over but then Lance reaches across the floor with his foot and knocks it against Keith’s knee.

“So what is it?”Keith raises an eyebrow at him and Lance smiles, “What? I still want to know. I mean you have to have a job right?”

Keith sighs, “I’m a romance writer.”

The silence is expected. It's normally what happens when he tells someone he writes romance novels or tries to at least.

“You write romance?” he can hear the smile in Lance’s voice without looking over at him. He tugs at the strands of hair that have escaped his bandana.

“Yeah, yeah I know. It’s weird, I don’t look like I would.” It normally doesn’t bother him too much when people point out that he doesn’t fit the role, but Lance has already poked fun at almost everything about him. He turns further away from Lance to look at the gross floor they had revealed.

Lance reaches and brushes his fingers along his arm, “Hey, no. I wasn’t thinking that. I’m not going to make fun of you for writing romance. I should show you what I paint sometimes.” he chuckles a bit and wraps his hand more securely around Keith’s arm pulling him back towards him. “I just have to wonder. Are they smutty?”

Keith whips his head around his mouth dropping at Lance’s cheeky grin.

“No. They aren’t smutty. I’m not a mom romance writer. Think more uh, Anne of Green Gables. Romance that means something, mixed with artful backgrounds and good characters.”

Lance nods a smile still on his face. “You know, I think it fits you well.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, you did talk for an obnoxious amount of time about a notebook you saw at the hardware store.”

Keith feels a blush rise in his cheeks and he ducks his head. Lance is laughing again, pulling on his elbow again. “I’m kidding. I thought it was kind of cool. Normally when I run into people who meet Allura for the first time, they can’t shut up about her body, and here you are not shutting up about her notebook.”

“Oh. Well, uh. I kind of swing the other way, you know?” he prays that Lance isn’t homophobic. When Coran had told him that a gay couple lived in the lighthouse he had felt more optimistic about his queerness in a new tiny town. Lance just nods and it makes Keith a little nervous, but he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Are you published?” Lance asks, turning back to Keith. 

“One. I have one book published and I really hate it. Do you sell your artwork?”

Lance waves his hand in a vague back and forth motion, “Sometimes. I really do just do it as a hobby, and sometimes people in town commission me. But honestly, you can look out your window and see what I paint.”

Keith shakes his head, looking out at the sea that’s taken on a slate grey color as the sky itself has. 

“No, that’s the funny thing about art. You think that generic, maybe even a copy of something you see, but there is always a little piece of yourself in it, and that is something no one can call generic.”

“You’re very strange Keith, I think you’ll get along well here in Seaside.” lance says standing up and brushing pieces of dirt from his pants. Keith startles and stands with him. “I think I should be heading home now.”

Keith nods a little disconcerted from Lance’s sudden departure, but then thunder is rolling in the east and the waves beat with more insistence against the shore. Keith frowns up at the sky in worry. Lance follows his eyes, “ You should probably get a hotel room in town and leave your new supplies in your car. Those holes in your ceiling scream leaks.”

Keith nods absently, noticing that Lance has his stuff with him again.

“Well, bye neighbor. I might stop in tomorrow,” Lance says walking back down to his bike. Keith nods raising his hand to wave as Lance throws long legs over his bike. Lance copies his movement, ringing his bell before pushing off, peddling up the lane. Keith watches him until he can’t see him anymore, his form being swallowed up by the golds and orange and apricots of the leaves. Keith turns away shaking his head, he wonders if Lance is just a fluke. Something that will fade into obscurity as Keith gets settled. He isn’t sure how he feels about the prospect of that. 

As he cleans up the mess and stores his stuff in his car, he has a distinct feeling that he did something wrong.


End file.
